Then, just as suddenly as it had sprung up, the storm died. The clouds parted, flooding sea and sky with warm amber light. Wind and wave subsided; air and water went utterly still.

Rolling a red-rimmed eye at his nearest companions, Cuillioc went below, cursing his luck. First storm-tossed, now becalmed. He began to doubt whether he would ever see Mirizandi at all.

Meanwhile, with the sails hanging slack and the ship floating motionless on the sun-shot face of the water, the Master gave orders to break out the oars. Down in his cabin, the Prince heard the by-now-familiar rattle and thump of oars slipping into place. Then the drum took up its monotonous thud-thunk, like a weary heartbeat.

The slaves kept at their backbreaking labor for hour after hour in the relentless heat, faces red, muscles straining, skins slick with sweat, until word came down from Prince Cuillioc to drop anchor and give the men a rest.

A short while later, the shipmaster, going in search of the Prince and finding him sprawled, sick and exhausted on his bed, was moved to protest. "Great Prince, there was no need. It's not my place to question your orders, but in all truth the men were good for a long time yet."

Cuillioc put his hands behind his head, scowled at the man across the candlelit cabin. "We'll not reach Mirizandi any sooner by killing the oarsmen."

The Master shuffled his feet. "They're able to do more than you may think. And even if we lose a man here and there, I promise you, Great Prince, it will hardly matter. The ones that survive can be urged on to greater efforts, being that much stronger."

"In common humanity, then. And in recognition of their mighty labors working the pumps during the storm."

The man goggled at him. "In common hu-The oarsmen are slaves-criminals s.n.a.t.c.hed from the gallows."

But Cuillioc had made up his mind. He had seen what happened when galley slaves were pushed too hard, the way the bodies of the dead-and sometimes of those too weak to continue rowing-were commonly thrown overboard to lighten the load. He had no wish to leave a trail of waterlogged and fish-eaten corpses behind him, all the way to Mirizandi.

"We will wait here until sunset. If the wind doesn't rise, the men can row all through the night, when it is cooler."

Shaking his head, the Master withdrew. The Prince rolled over on his side, pulled a pillow over his head, and lapsed into a restless doze, from which he woke a short or a long time later, trembling, sweaty, and hagridden.

He reappeared on deck just as the sun was hovering on the horizon, about to dip into the ocean. A large flock of seagulls flew overhead, heading for the land. Cuillioc leaned over the rail, watching them grow smaller and smaller until they finally disappeared in the dusky air. A waxing moon was already high in the sky.

Just as the sun went down, a stiff breeze sprang up. There was activity in the rigging, the sails were set, and soon the galley went skimming across the water far more swiftly than the men could have rowed her.

Cuillioc went up to the afterdeck, where he stood sniffing the air. There was, he decided, a distinct scent of sorcery on the wind. Nor had he any doubt as to the origin of this highly convenient change in the weather. His heart swelled within him.

Looking in the direction of Phaorax, he folded his arms and bowed his head in the ritual salute accorded the Empress. "Thank you, Mother," he said under his breath.

And feeling that he had somehow been unaccountably returned to favor, he turned around and went below with a light step and a satisfied smile on his face.

13.

The cell where the two guardsmen Jago and Aell languished was in a dungeon buried deep beneath the hill. How deep it was impossible to say, for the way they had been hustled-and sometimes carried when they refused to walk-had involved many long flights of stairs, spiraling down and down, to the very bowels and fundament of the earth it seemed.

But perhaps that perception was exaggerated. Jago had an idea that his own furious attempts to break free, and the rough handling these had provoked, had greatly prolonged the journey. After a while, someone or something had hit him over the head, sending the man-at-arms into peaceful oblivion...until he woke in this place with an aching skull and Aell stretched out beside him on the dank stone floor, looking as bruised and battered as he himself felt.

The charity of their captors had been scanty enough: two squat tallow candles, one wooden cup, and an earthenware bottle half-full of water. No other refreshment was offered, though hours pa.s.sed.

But at least, Jago recalled, there was beef and ale in the barracks before some mysterious order came down-before we were attacked and taken prisoner. He wondered where the Prince was, and the two wizards. Dead, maybe, all three of them. Even the powerful could be taken by treachery; no one was immune to that, perhaps the wizards of Leal least of all.

In Jago's experience, two sorts of men were most vulnerable to trickery: those who were treacherous themselves, and those so honorable that they never dreamed of betraying a trust. The middle sort like himself, essentially honest but highly practical, tended to see the world as it was, for whatever good that was likely to do them, being sworn, as often as not, to serve one or the other of the other two kinds and share in their troubles.

The cell in which he found himself now was rough, unfinished stone, smelling of earth and stagnant water: more cave than cell, except for a stout wooden door with a barred window and some rusty iron chains dangling from one wall. Otherwise, there was not a bone or a rag to tell about previous prisoners. Even the rats had abandoned this place, even the spiders. Perhaps it had not been used for a long, long time.

On waking, Jago and Aell had pulled themselves up off the floor, and they sat huddled together on a rough cot on which someone had placed a musty old mattress stuffed with moldy hay. It seemed warmer so, sitting back to back, or at least more companionable. But after a while the cold of the place wearied the soul, it sapped the spirit. Seeping past iron rings and padded jacks, it crept into the very marrow of the bones, turning the blood to ice. And they were already using the second candle. Soon, even that tiny spark of light, that meager warmth, would be gone.

"I wonder," said Aell, "if it might be morning yet-and of what day?"

Jago nodded morosely. All hours were the same here. Sometimes, they could hear the echo of footsteps a long way off. But it was as difficult to judge distances as it was the pa.s.sage of time; sound bounced off walls, repeated itself again and again and again. And whenever he or Aell left the cot to pace the cell, walking from one end to the other with restless, impatient movements, their own footsteps seemed to die underfoot, as though the floor absorbed them. "This place is uncanny. Why don't they just kill us and be done with it?"

"We have a duty to live and to reach that place we were going to-if we can," said Aell.

Jago pondered that for a while, sitting with his chin in his hands. "Perhaps we do," he replied at last. "Though what we expect to accomplish there without the great ones to speak their piece and do all the persuading, I don't know."

They both knew they stood very little chance of finding out. Barring the survival of Ruan or one of the wizards to effect a rescue, their own prospects looked dim.

Whenever an earthquake struck and the walls shook, Jago wondered idly whether he and his old friend would live to be murdered on purpose, or maybe were fated to be buried alive accidentally.

"This cell has been here for hundreds of years, and Saer has been shaking like this every month since the world Changed, and maybe before that," said Aell, as if sharing the same thought. "I don't see us being entombed alive, I really don't.

"Not," he added, shifting his position so that the cot creaked, "not that this isn't a regular burial vault. I suppose if they just abandon us here, it will come to much the same thing."

Jago rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "It will be quicker and more merciful, though, if the hill falls down on us."

Perhaps their voices covered the sound of approaching footsteps. When a key sc.r.a.ped in the lock, that was all the warning they had. Aell sprang up at once, and Jago (larger, heavier, and always a bit slower) lumbered to his feet an instant later.

So they were standing braced for battle-prepared to sell their lives dearly, weaponless though they were-when the door slowly swung open and a willowy pale-haired figure strolled into the cell carrying their swords. With a brief courtly bow over the hilts, he gestured toward the open door, as though inviting the astonished prisoners to step through.

"And who might you be?" asked Aell, hanging back with a suspicious look. But Jago, ever the more impulsive, reached out and retrieved his weapon, fastening the sheath to his belt.

"I am the one who is going to lead you and your friends to safety, the Fates willing," said the stranger. He looked to be about nineteen and was dressed as a squire or a page in Saer's livery, yet his hair, which he wore in a long braid down his back, was purest silver in the flickering candlelight. Though not much taller than Aell, he gave the impression of being long-limbed and peculiarly supple.

The men-at-arms exchanged a bewildered glance. They were not so gullible as to accept this astounding offer at face value, though cudgel their brains as they might, neither man could come up with a single reason why the offer should be made at all if not sincerely.

"You've been overlooked so far," said the stranger, c.o.c.king his head and watching them slantwise out of luminous yellow eyes. There was something about him that reminded Jago of Prince Ruan-and a great deal not. "But when Dreyde and Thaga get over the fright they have given themselves dealing with the two wizards and finally remember your existence, I fear that things may go very badly with you. Do you mean to stand there and stare at me forever, or will you allow me to rescue you?"

Aell reached out and took his sword, drew it from its sheath. He inspected the blade carefully, then nodded, one short, quick movement before heading for the door.

"Oh, we'll allow you to do it," he flung over his shoulder as he left the cell. "But perhaps you won't take offense if we're just a little uneasy accepting your help, under the circ.u.mstances."

Sinderian and the Prince had somehow managed to elude their pursuers. But the fortress was so vast and so complex, and parts of it were so long-abandoned and empty, it was no difficult task to lose someone or something, or to become lost oneself.

In order to avoid a meeting with Dreyde's guardsmen, they had descended several flights, sc.r.a.ping their heads pa.s.sing through a low doorway all but hidden in the shadows, then stumbled down a long limestone pa.s.sageway into an uninhabited part of the castle. Once she was certain that no one was following, Sinderian dredged up the strength to conjure a little werelight: a lighter-than-air sphere of blue-grey phosph.o.r.esence that promptly attached itself to the hilt of Ruan's sword, as the nearest bright object.

And there it had remained, providing very little in the way of illumination, though it seemed to be enough for the Prince, who could apparently see like a cat, so long as there was even the tiniest glimmer of light. He moved ahead with a long, confident stride, and Sinderian trailed obediently behind him: through ancient dining halls and pantries and sculleries, through a sour-smelling room full of wine casks turning to vinegar-too heart-weary and sick to challenge his leadership or ask any questions.

Until something about the pattern of cracked tiles on the floor in one of the greater rooms struck her as somehow familiar, and she glanced up and said with a frown: "We have been this way before!"

"Yes."

Sinderian shook the hair out of her eyes. "We have been walking in circles for some time."

"Yes," said the Prince, resting one hand on a harp that was strung with cobwebs. "I am afraid we are lost."

Nevertheless, they had no choice but to continue on.

At the next place where two corridors met, Ruan chose to turn right where he had gone left before, which brought them into a series of abandoned bedchambers and wardrobes, where doors hung loose on broken hinges, where great four-poster beds clothed in embroidered hangings were mildewed and rotting, and everything lay under a thick pall of dust.

Sometimes, they pa.s.sed below an air shaft, and a rumor of distant voices came down to them, faint and echoing. Sometimes they entered a room where the walls had been plastered and frescoed, though the paintings, whatever they were, had long since been obscured by woodsmoke and patches of damp. Once, they stopped to catch their breath in an old armory, where knives and swords and hand axes still hung in rusty ranks upon the walls.

"Saer," said the Prince, looking pensive in his circle of dim blue light, "must have housed a vast mult.i.tude of people, once. Before the catastrophe, perhaps as recently as before the war. It must have been like a small city here, above and below the ground."

Sinderian nodded wearily. Now it was like nothing so much as a catacomb, a great tomb, if not full of moldering bones, at least full of dead hopes and dead dreams. Goslin, she remembered, had lost both his valiant young sons and all three of his brothers in the war with Phaorax. Undoubtedly, much else had been lost as well.

Ruan reached out and, with a light touch on her arm, directed Sinderian down another pa.s.sageway. His manner toward her had been stripped of all arrogance and grown strangely gentle-though there were bruises on her wrists where he had held her before, rough in his haste and his concern for her safety.

Is this pity? she wondered dully. If so, she did not like it, did not want any part of it, yet she was much too tired to resist it actively.

Her eyes burned with tears and sleeplessness. Sometimes she walked in a daze, mindless, empty, beyond grief. Sometimes she remembered; then rage and hatred flared up, filling her emptiness with a single purpose: If it should be that Thaga crosses our path, I will kill him.

"This way, I think," said the Prince. They had stopped, indecisively, at the foot of a broad staircase, the first stair leading up that they had seen in a long time.

Sinderian gathered up the heavy skirts of her wine-colored gown and followed Ruan up two flights of shallow stairs, then through a soaring archway.

They came out into a wide lofty hall, its distant ceiling upheld by ma.s.sive white pillars that glowed with a faint pearlescent light. On the farthest wall there was a line of tall windows in deep embrasures, looking out on the night.

No, not the night but the morning, Sinderian realized when she drew closer to the windows. The moon had set, the stars had faded, and the sky was all purple and gold with dawn.

Prince Ruan unlatched one of the leaded-gla.s.s cas.e.m.e.nts, threw it open, and stood looking out. He remained there so long that Sinderian grew curious. She joined him in the alcove, leaning out across a windowsill wet with dew.

These windows overlooked the road leading up from the valley. Even so, it was a long way to the ground. By craning her neck, she could just see a section of the ramparts as well as the gatehouse.

"Had we a rope," said the Prince, mentally calculating the distance to the road, "we might perhaps descend."

Sinderian blinked at him incredulously. "And be shot at by Saer's archers while we dangle in the air?"

Ruan merely shrugged. It was a moot point; they had no rope, and no way of getting one.

They heard voices down below, a jingling of harnesses in the courtyard, and the noise of many men riding in company; then the gates swung open and a large party rode out. From their vantage point at the window, Sinderian and the Prince had a clear view of the horses and their riders: about a dozen men in dull black cloaks, some of them armed, and two in heavier mantles of scarlet brocade, who rode with their hoods thrown back and their white hair streaming behind them in the morning breeze.

"Furiadhin!" Ruan hissed between his teeth.

Sinderian's heart gave a painful leap. The breath caught in her throat, and for a moment it seemed she would pa.s.s out with the intensity of her emotions, the hatred and loathing that welled up inside of her.

One of the priests was slight and bright and flamelike. Dainty ivory horns grew from his brow, and he sat easy and graceful in the saddle. Yet he was not effeminate; his boyish face was ascetic, and the ardor of a fanatic burned in his strange silver eyes.

Beside him rode one whom it was impossible not to notice: in Sinderian's eyes, everything about him spoke of wounded grandeur, the ruin of something high and splendid, a great man, a great mind degraded. He was tall, very tall, with a lean, powerful face, its inherent n.o.bility marred by a look of ineffable sorrow. One of his hands was withered to a claw, but the other, which held the gilded reins, was beautiful, with strong bones and long, tapering fingers. In the pearly dawnlight his skin and hair glowed softly-somehow, there seemed to be more light about him than any of the others.

Her lips moved, but she did not dare say the names out loud, hardly dared to think them: Dyonas. Camhoinhann. No sign of Goezenou.

Realizing that they risked being seen, she and the Prince drew back into the embrasure, and Ruan silently closed the cas.e.m.e.nt.

"They have ways of speaking with each other across great distances," she whispered. Edging out of the alcove, Sinderian rested her head and shoulders against the wall between two windows. "Goe-the one that we saw in Tregna must have told those down below that we were heading this way. They came here for the express purpose of instigating Dreyde's treachery, and he-either for fear or a desire to please-was ready to be of use to them. But what can it mean: three of them traveling through Mere?"

"Have we not already guessed where they are going, what they intend? And they are likely to arrive long before we do. Even when we find our way out of this h.e.l.lish maze-"

Just then, they heard footsteps crossing the hall, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. The Prince bit back the last of his sentence, and he and Sinderian dived back into the embrasure. There they waited breathlessly, wondering whether they had already been spotted.

As the sound of boots. .h.i.tting the polished floor came even nearer, accompanied by a low murmur of voices, a rattle of spurs, Ruan's right hand went to the hilt of his sword. He drew it out so slowly that it slipped almost silently past the silver guard at the top-only a whisper of metal against metal.

The voices and footsteps came louder and closer. Ruan's fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword-then he relaxed his grip and most of the tension flowed out of his body. He knew those voices.

Two men walked past a stone column and into view: one short, dark, compact, and vigorous; the other taller and st.u.r.dier, with streaks of grey in his brown hair and beard. But the Prince stiffened again when a third figure entered his line of vision and he realized that Aell and Jago were not alone.

Ruan's sword flashed up, light from the windows glancing off the blade as it descended in a perfect arc-stopping scant inches above the stranger's head when Aell cried out, "A friend. He is a friend, Lord Prince. A friend."

Ruan's sword hovered in midair.

"One of your own people," Jago insisted earnestly. "Hear him out, I beg you, Lord. He says he can be of use to us."

Reluctantly, the Prince lowered his sword. Still glaring at the Ni-Ferys squire, he drove the blade back into its sheath. "Not one of my people," he said under his breath. "But I will hear him. We have need of friends in this place, I suppose-even such friends as this."

The stranger smiled, a wry little smile, and a challenging look pa.s.sed between him and Ruan.

"Gilrain Worricker of Airey," he said, with a flourishing bow. "You do have friends in this place, as well as enemies. Or at least, there are those here who have no wish to serve Ouriana of Phaorax in any way, and who would be glad to do her an ill turn. If you will permit me, I will show you the swiftest and fastest way out of Saer."

Sinderian hooked a long strand of sweaty dark hair behind her ear. "And why should we trust you, having already been betrayed by Lord Dreyde?"

"Discounting the a.s.sistance I have already given your friends? I venture to say that you have little choice. The luck has been with you so far; you have been very fortunate to elude capture. But how much longer do you suppose your luck will continue? Yet I know this castle as few others know it; I can guide you to safety by secret ways."

Aell and Jago became vociferous in support of their new friend, but the Prince remained hostile.

"If it will aid you in making a decision," said Gilrain, "I will tell you that the treachery at Saer goes farther-and yet began closer to home-than you may imagine. Those who loved Lord Goslin have no cause to love Dreyde."

Sinderian pa.s.sed a hand over her face. White-lipped and red-eyed, she swayed where she stood, and Ruan threw out a hand to steady her. Her face was streaked with tears and smudged with dirt; her hands shook with fatigue; yet there was something indomitable about her.

"I say let us accept help when it is offered," she said in a cracked voice. "Let us be out of this place as soon as possible."

The Prince shot the stranger another burning glance. "Very well," he said, the words forced out between clenched teeth. "Take us out of this place, and swiftly."

They followed Gilrain out of the hall-first the Prince, then Sinderian, then the men-at-arms. Moving at a breathless pace, the Ni-Ferys took them through a doorway, down a short corridor, and up a wooden staircase, to the chamber where they had first met Lord Dreyde. There he flung aside one of the tapestries on the wall, exposing a hidden door.

"Quickly now," he said, throwing the door open on a dark pa.s.sageway, motioning the others to pa.s.s through. "The light is growing. I can take you past the walls without being seen, but if Dreyde sends men out into the countryside looking for you, they will have no difficulty tracking you down by daylight."

The Ni-Ferys took them by way of a series of tunnels and cellars, by a pa.s.sage so low that they were forced to crawl through the filth and the stench of what must be a drain or a sewer, and finally out through a narrow culvert and a rotting iron grate-to a wooded glade beneath the northern wall. They had come (he said) to the other side of the hill from the gatehouse, to rising country above the valley.

There appeared to be adequate cover in this direction, but the morning was by then so far advanced and the light so broad, they would have to go quietly and cautiously, and trust to their guide to lead them aright. Somewhere along the way-the Prince was not sure exactly when, or how it came about-it had been tacitly agreed that Gilrain would continue to show them the way, even though he had only promised to see them beyond the walls.

They followed a narrow path between the trees. After the long night of heartache and peril, it seemed very peaceful, very safe, in the bright wood. The growth there was mostly oak and ilem and beech, dappling the ground with lacy patterns of light and shade. The canopy of green-gold leaves rustled with wings; and every now and then there came a trill of birdsong.